


Lyra

by nympsycho



Series: Requests [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Affection, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Apologies, Asphyxiation, Banter, Begging, Biting, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Blood Loss, Bloody Kisses, Body Modification, Bruises, Chair Bondage, Choking, Clothed Sex, Come Shot, Coming Untouched, Coming on Own Face, Consensual Non-Consent, Crying, Demon Sex, Dominant Bottom, Dorks in Love, Duct Tape, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Punching, Face Slapping, Finger Sucking, Kissing, Knifeplay, Loss of Circulation, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Painplay, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Regret, Reluctant Sadist, Restraints, Rough Sex, Scars, Sleepy Cuddles, Succubi & Incubi, Tails, Teasing, Teeth, Urination, loving dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 18:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nympsycho/pseuds/nympsycho
Summary: What do you get when you combine a good-natured, ready-to-please succubus with their ultra-masochistic boyfriend who evocationed them from a jerry-built summoning circle?A very fun, though admittedly bloody time.A fic featuring original characters Soda and Kieau, two very good boys who love each other and like to play rough... perhaps a bit too rough. In the end, as long as Soda is pleased, Kieau is willing to pick up the pieces no matter where they fall.More character details/art in the AN





	Lyra

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this fic was very fun to write since it's my first foray into original characters. 
> 
> Kieau (He/They) is an adult demon fresh out of succubus school, hailing from a society where friendship and love is expressed with violence and bloodshed. They're generally shy and unsure around humans, but after meeting Soda they're dedicated to finding out exactly how these creatures work. They find that they enjoy getting Soda off any way he likes, even when death is dangled just out of reach. Though they're usually an upbeat, fun personality, they're quick to anger and respond to provocation in kind. They're likely to cool down quickly, though, and apologize profusely for their transgressions. You're likely to find them in the pillow fort that they reside in within Soda's apartment, playing with the stupid shit they steal from Walmart for fun. Here are some lovely art pieces of Kieau: https://toyhou.se/1573115.kieau/gallery
> 
> Soda (He/Him) is Kieau's connection to this particular plane of Earth and dedicated broke, jobless fool. He gets by in a small, empty apartment adorned only by second-hand furniture and occult nick-knacks. Don't let his relaxed, easygoing nature fool you, though; Soda calls the shots. After all, he's the one who has to convince Kieau to give him what he wants half the time. Here is Soda's beautiful Toyhou.se: https://toyhou.se/1574334.booboo-the-dancing-fool/gallery
> 
> How'd this mess come to be, anyway? Soda, intrigued by the promise of a satanic lover, tries to summon one with rudimentary knowledge of the rituals necessary to do so. He fails and resigns himself to taking out his frustration with a quick visit from his reliable five-finger beau. Turns out, a little cum is all he needed to summon an adorable succubus, and luckily they find companionship through the hours of senseless fucking. Even though Soda doesn't have much, it's plenty for Kieau, just happy that they've managed to score their dream job on Earth.
> 
> Woo! Cute, huh?

The damn shelf fell off the wall again.

“That has to be the shittiest shelf on Earth,” Kieau groans, collecting the various arcane knick-knacks that Soda insists have value.

“Is there a better one in Hell, you think?” Soda replies sarcastically, leaning back into the tattered dining chair that he’d nicked from the curb in front of some college kid’s apartment.

Kieau scoffs. “Probably not, honestly. You could help with this, you know.”

Soda crosses his arms across his chest. “Eh, there’s duct tape around here somewhere. Just tape it back up.”

“Yeah, because that worked so well la~” Kieau starts, only to be interrupted by a pubescent dip of their voice, despite being a grown-ass adult.

They stutter and clear their throat, but Soda’s already latched on to the opportunity that’s been practically dropped in his lap.

“Jeez, didn’t know there was a middle-schooler convention in town,” Soda jeers as he stifles a chuckle.

“Shut up,” Kieau dismisses with a roll of their eyes. “My throat is dry from all this back-breaking labor.”

Kieau dumps the baubles onto the side table with a tumbling clatter. Soda glares up at them, their point made wordlessly. He slaps the back of his hand lazily against their thigh with a smug grin, teasing them further.

They catch his wrist before he lets it fall, the oversized sleeves of their sweater brushing against his knuckles. With a flash of dagger-like teeth they part their lips in an antagonistic smirk. Soda knows what he’s getting himself into by provoking them like this, expecting an afternoon of banter and retaliatory games of Mario Kart.

Soda doesn’t hesitate, feeling snarky. “Aren’t there laws against child labor?”

_ Pop. _

A grisly crack thunders within Soda’s sinuses, his face snapping back with the impact of Kieau’s fist. Their lighthearted snickering is like fog, hanging heavy in his head as he reels in pain. Only after his breathing starts to mix with bubbling gurgles do their chuckles make way for concerned silence.

“Shit,” Kieau stutters at the sight of blood, looking down at their knuckles as if in disbelief that they could do such a thing. 

Soda swipes the crimson stickiness from under his nose as Kieau hovers over him, uttering pleasantries with a genuine lilt of regret. 

“It’s fine,” Soda insists. “I can handle it.”

Kieau knows that his statement is true, but that doesn’t change the fact that drops of blood spatter against the floor. Soda tries to sniffle, tears budding in the corners of his eyes at the horrific shifting of cartilage that blocks one nostril. 

“I’m really sorry, ah…” Kieau repeats as they scramble to catch his stream of blood with their sleeve, redness seeping into the fabric like ink in water. They watch curiously as a stray tear or two mixes with the blood, diluting it in a kaleidoscope of watercolor. As they brood over the intriguing veins of color, they catch sight of something much more interesting.

“Really?” Kieau sneers, their incredulous gaze jumping from the bulging between Soda’s legs and his avoidant expression.

He merely shrugs in response as he swipes more blood from his face, his torpid smile painted by transparent tears that glisten on his eyelashes and redness swirled atop the contrasting whiteness of his teeth. He favors a pensive look towards his hand over meeting Kieau’s gaze, the blood cascading across the contours of it. Sticky fingertips tap together to assess the viscous nature of it, quickly cooling from the chilly air.

Kieau captures his wrist to jerk his hand away from further instigation. 

“Would you stop that,” Kieau scolds, more concerned for his well-being than indulging in his morbid fascination with blood. They admit to themselves, though, that the way his face contorts with the perhaps too-tight grip on his wrists is captivating. 

Soda, spurred on by cheeky recalcitrance, simply raises his other hand to his face. He watches as Kieau pouts, catching the buds of blood that begin to drip from his jawline. Kieau is all too familiar with the look on his face-- the way his lids hang heavy, the rather stupid grin that rounds the blush of his cheeks… of course, the obvious erection bespeaks his intentions most clearly. The bruises that begin to form around their fingertips distract him from the aching in his sinuses for just a moment, finally looking up to Kieau’s gaze.

Kieau smirks knowingly, taking both wrists into his grasp and pinning them behind the back of the chair. They lean down, keeping his wrists in place with a provocative wrapping of their tail. It’s more a show of intent than a restraint, Soda more than happy to oblige the position. It gives them time to search their surroundings for a more suitable restraint, pleased to find the roll of duct tape nestled between the oddities on the table beside them.

Kieau unfurls a strip from the roll with a tantalizing  _ zuuurpt _ , holding the length of it in front of his eyes. It’s a promise and a threat, ensuring that Soda understands before crossing to the back of the chair, out of Soda’s view. They secure his wrists together with an unhurried twirl of the tape.

“Is that tight enough?” Soda snarks, wiggling his fingers.

Kieau rolls their eyes, passing over the first layer with a more constricting vice. Soda hisses with approval, already feeling the blood struggle to flow into his hands. His chest puffs as he arches his back, adjusting to the tension on his shoulders as he’s secured thoroughly.

Kieau bends at the hips, resting their forearms on Soda’s shoulders and crossing their wrists in front of his neck. Soda grins as he eyes the roll of duct tape dangling from their fingers, nuzzling into their cheek as they kiss his neck.

They exchange warm smirks as Kieau outstretches another strip in front of him, his eyes crossing to watch it bind the top of his chest to the chair. It digs into the softness under his arms; the hum he lets out makes Kieau wriggle their tail like an excited cat. An intermittent drumming noise catches their attention, finding Soda tapping the balls of his feet against the floor provokingly. 

Kieau has always enjoyed indulging Soda, even when what he wants dangles his life before fate. Taping his ankles to the feet of the chair is a tame request compared to what they’re used to. After confirming that he’s not going anywhere, they straddle onto his hips, the weight on Soda’s bulge making him writhe. He relaxes after Kieau leans in close, pooling blood onto the tip of their tongue as they trail the contours of his neck to lap at his cheek. The metallic taste of mortal blood is only further savoried by the salt of tears.

Soda huffs a grunt as the buttons of his letterman jacket are popped open with a harsh tug, exposing his ratty t-shirt to Kieau’s inquisitive eyes. Soda encourages them with a genuine smile as their fingers slide under the hem to dance along the sensitive framework of his midriff. 

Kieau ushers the hem up his chest and into Soda’s mouth, his teeth making a fine clamp to keep his chest exposed. Old bruises in various stages of healing mar the umber-brown of his skin, mapping out his favorite spots. A drop of blood from his nose marks a line down the center of his chest, which Kieau promptly leans down to kiss into a splotch.

They kiss their way to his nipple, pockmarks of blood left behind with each touch of their lips. The ribboning of their tongue hardens the nub between their lips, the slick warmth of saliva inspiring a quiet groan from Soda. He rounds his chest into their mouth with a curl of his spine, urging them for more than just the flicking of their tongue.

Kieau can read Soda like a book, eager to do as he asks. However, after their little spat, they’re not so sure he necessarily deserves their ardent obedience. They drag the points of their teeth along the border of his nipple, looking up at him with a belittling glint to their eye. Soda gets the point, his brows furrowing at Kieau’s little game of hard-to-get.

“Are you gonna…” Soda drones, eyes shifting with the unfamiliarity of having to ask for what he wants. He manages to keep his words clear enough to understand despite the fabric of his shirt in his mouth. 

“Gonna what?” Kieau plays dumb, their words muffled by the plushness of his chest.

“Uh… you know…” Soda mumbles, obviously alluding to the collection of new and old bite scars that decorate his chest.

“Hm… I kinda don’t…” Kieau trails off, raising their brows with a taunt.

He tsks, pouting as Kieau presses their teeth ever-so-gently into the tissue of his breast with an innocent flutter of their lashes.

“Kieau…” Soda whines, his restraints becoming quite bothersome at this point. 

“Hm?”

“Could you… bite me?” Soda finally utters, pushing aside his pride to get what he wants.

Kieau grins as they grind their teeth into his skin, Soda finally satisfied. Too quickly, though, Kieau relents, chuckling at Soda’s petulant whine.

“Not like that,” Soda gripes.

“Then how?” Kieau manages to enunciate as they curl their lip, exposing their teeth that are technically indeed embedded in Soda’s skin. They keep them just above the threshold that Soda craves, hips swaying in his lap with the tease.

“You’ve done this before… why…” Soda mewls.

Kieau shrugs exaggeratedly in response, their tongue languidly rolling over the nub as if they had all the time in the world.

“Please?” Soda offers, a last-ditch effort to appease them.

They didn’t think it would be that easy; Soda must be easier to knock down a peg than they’d thought. They reward him with slow, intentional sink of their jaw, puncturing his skin with two even rows of teeth. Soda throws his head back and jerks against the restraints, his voice wavering with the heated groan of appreciation. Fresh blood pools in the bottom of Kieau’s mouth before it overflows, seeping down his chest and collecting near his hip.

Soda closes his eyes after Kieau takes his other nipple between two truculent knuckles. His brilliant whine at the pinch shunts blood into Kieau’s own cock, hastening their urgency. They release his nipple to trail down to the belt-loops of his jeans, hooking a finger around one of them to tug on it playfully.

Something about Soda is particularly intriguing to them today. He seems less inhibited, grinding himself into their hips and breathing harder than usual. Their teeth slide out from the wounds easily, spurts of blood following them, as they part from his chest. They lick the strand of spit and blood that connect them as they assess his face, flushed and dotted with sweat. He winces as Kieau tongues the fresh wounds, his brows furrowed with pain and urgency he feels deep in his gut. They feel much of the same, wanting to hear him plead even just once more. Yet Soda would take things too far-- he always does, and they’re always the one stuck picking up the literal and figurative pieces. They’d have to find a happy medium.

Their eyes search past Soda’s head for an answer. With a mischievous glint, they spot it, the color of it contrasting against the dullness of the table. They press their chest against Soda’s face as they strain to reach it, the pressure sending a fresh wave of agony from his nose. He cries out something inconsequential into their sweater, probably something irrelevant like “hey, that fucking hurts!”

No matter. They settle back into Soda’s lap, capturing his attention from the blood that stains their sweater to the neon-yellow X-Acto blade perched in their hand. Soda follows the way the blade emerges from its sheath with a methodical  _ click-click-click. _

Possibilities glint in the shininess of the blade as Kieau takes the shirt from Soda’s mouth. It’s a problem easily dealt with, a jolting drag of the blade making quick work of the fabric. As the remains fall wayside, Kieau realizes they’d nicked Soda’s angle of Louis, a dotting of blood marking their mistake.

“Ah, sorry…” they utter, feeling Soda’s cock throb under the weight of his jeans. The irony of their sweet apology as they dangle the blade in front of his face goes unnoticed, Soda more concerned with more important matters.

“More.”

His gasping plea takes Kieau off-guard, meeting his deceptively lackadaisical gaze questioningly.

“Huh?” they utter, genuinely confused.

“Please, now…” he breathes as he clenches his fists, fighting the aching, dull pain that settles in his hands from the lack of circulation. “More.”

Even if it goes against his best interests, Kieau can’t resist giving Soda what he wants. 

They hesitate for just a moment before continuing the cut, dragging the blade down the center of his breastbone. Soda hums in approval before suddenly letting out an agonal squeal, contorting viciously and startling Kieau. They’d caught the tip of the blade on the bone of his sternum unintentionally, the harshness of the sensation pouring tears from his eyes. The grimace on his face creates a maze for the tears to follow, catching on darkening blood. His eyes open after the wave of pain passes, breathing heavily, giving Kieau a reassuring smile.

The look on his face, troubled but intensely erotic, their cock throbbing in response.

“You’re sure this is okay?” they offer, hoping that Soda wouldn’t back out now.

“I swear to God if you don’t fuck me up right now, I’ll do it myself,” Soda threatens, his voice cracking with frustration. Kieau considers calling him out on it, but favors a more direct affront. 

They dig the tip of the blade into the center of a particularly perse bruise in the left corner of his chest, quickly and thoroughly penetrating the skin. Blood flows from the slice as he cries out, gritting his teeth with the adrenaline that urges him to fight his restraints. Kieau can palpate his heart rate from the pulsing of his blood beneath the blade. The suffocating scent of heavy, metallic blood hangs heavy in the air as Soda salivates, taking in what oxygen he can.

Kieau enraptures themselves with the way his skin peels around the blade, the ability to cause such fleeting pain to a mortal bolstering their desire. The limits of their rationality become abundantly clear, a sadistic grin growing across their face as they capture the handle of the blade in both hands.

They drink in Soda’s anguished cry as they jerk the blade sideways, cutting across the breadth of his chest to link two bruises with a careful incision. Soda tries to stomp his feet, the two cuts intersecting perpendicularly to push raw tears down his face.

Kieau’s finger, trembling in excitement, follows the trail of the incision as they balance the handle of the blade carefully. Their eyes dart from bruise to bruise, connecting the dots and forming pictures on the canvas that is his chest. They dig their finger into the wound to collect blood like a pen nib in a vial of ink, Soda crying out with the pain.

“Oh God… yeah…” he groans, knocking the crown of his head against the back of the chair.

With the stars in their eyes, they trace lines of blood between the bruises in dazed admiration, Soda watching their vivid ministrations come to life.

Kieau’s features darken with Soda’s affirmation, pleasing them deeper than Soda knows. With a bold, uninhibited rush of curious maliciousness, Kieau paints their vision onto his chest. The blade scours from bruise to bruise, their slices remarkably precise despite his fruitless flailing. Soda’s screams ring hollow in their ears, pointed with curses with each of the blade’s changes of direction.

_ Slice. _

_ Slice. _

**_Slice._ **

Finally, after a final swipe of the blade across the sensitive area around his false ribs, their creation stares back at them. Blood pours freely, the cuts a tad deeper than they’d planned; the wounds are lined by the yellowing of subcutaneous fat, splicing Soda’s nerves into fire. In contrast, his hands go numb from the lack of blood, his fingers feeling cold as he digs them into his palms.

Kieau growls, the sound quite alien to Soda, before shoving two bloodied fingers into his mouth to silence his heightened screams into a visceral gurgle. He coughs on the coppery taste on the back of his tongue, their fingers hooked into the softness there.

They hunch over him like a predator to their prey, evaluating their work with feral eyes. They drop the X-Acto to the floor, spatters of blood marking its silhouette as it clatters to stillness. With the flatness of their fingers, they clear his skin of what excess blood they can, revealing the bold, reddened lines of their vision.

It’s more beautiful than they could have possibly imagined.

Lyra, the constellation of Orpheus’s lyre that claimed Hades in the underworld, shines sanguine between parted skin. The lyre, his saving grace as he was doomed to wander the upperworld without his precious Eurydice, signifies his undying loyalty for the love of his life. Though divided by metaphysical bondage, Orpheus channels his devotion to her through the strumming of its strings.

Kieau settles just enough to sense something strange where their bodies meet between their legs. Soda quiets down, his breath running hot over the back of their hand. They withdraw their fingers gingerly, a strand of thickened spit threading his chin, to shift their weight just enough to catch sight of something intensely gratifying.

“Pissed yourself already? That’s all it took?” Kieau sneers with a smirk, catching Soda’s attention from his dazed, forlorn stare at nothing in particular.

His eyes trail lazily towards the sullying of the denim over his crotch, darkened with piss. The realization that he’d indeed released his bladder brings tears of embarrassment to glisten along his lashes. Kieau offers him a brief glimpse of consideration, stroking his cheek with their knuckles as his lip quivers pathetically. Even through the humiliation, his cock aches under the constraint of his pants.

Kieau’s ghosted expression looks like a mask on their normally candy-sweet features as they shuffle off Soda’s lap to retrieve the blade. Soda is too absorbed in the fogginess of blood loss to react as he realizes one wrist pops free from the duct tape, the stickiness degraded by sweat and incessant wiggling. Sensation returns to his hand with the turbulent flow of blood return, static pounding deep from his bones. He ushers his other hand free, keeping still as Kieau returns to nestle onto the floor between his legs.

They take the hem of Soda’s jeans into an authoritative fist, fumbling with the button until they grumble in frustration. Their usual omnipresent patience is absent, resorting to tearing into the dampened fabric with the blade. In a few angry, jagged cuts, his crotch is exposed from a haphazard opening. He keeps still despite the shock trembling his muscles, the blade too close to his cock for comfort. His trust in Kieau runs deep, though, as he plants himself firmly into the seat of the chair.

With a final snag of a thread, his cock springs forward towards his navel. Soda hisses in relief, the lack of pressure an overwhelming relief from the deep, visceral pain in his chest. His face brightens with a disorientated grin, heavy-lidded eyes watching as Kieau rises to assess their work. Antic fingers toy around the head of it, the hardness and reactivity to their touch earning him a brief hum of approval.

“Look how desperate you are,” Kieau sneers. “You’re such a little bitch, honestly.”

Soda averts his gaze at the sound of their voice, but Kieau coaxes it back towards them with a gingerly grasp of his jaw. They hold him still as they plant the sole of their slipper onto his inner thigh, pressing just hard enough to grind Soda’s teeth. His mouth feels sticky with drying saliva, nothing left to swallow though he desperately tries.

“Want me to touch your cock?” Kieau teases, the ball of their foot digging into the sensitivity of his lean thigh.

Soda whines lazily in response.

“Say it.”

“Please… touch my cock…” Soda mumbles, favoring the possibility of stimulation over maintaining what’s left of his pride.

Kieau smiles warmly, running their thumb over his lips as they do as he asks. Unfortunately, they don’t use their hands, the hard rubber sole of their slipper pressing into the length of his cock unforgivingly. It’s enough to give him a scare, but not enough to hurt too badly. After the initial shock dissipates from his gut, he’s left in pensive apprehension.

His trembling breaths are replaced by worried whimpers as Kieau antagonizes him with a twisting of their ankle. The grinding of his cock against the hardness of his pelvic bone spurs him into action, snapping his wrists from the weakened duct tape. Kieau jerks back as his hands rush to their ankle, holding it firmly and relieving the pressure for a precious moment.

Kieau’s eyes grow wide with indignant shock, trying to figure out how Soda had gotten free. They suppose it doesn’t matter, chuckling lowly at the sudden burst of energy that they’d thought had been drained from his spirit. They encircle his wrists with loving fingers, leaning forward towards his face, unfortunately putting more pressure on his cock.

“You’re the one who wanted to be tied to the damn thing, now you want out?” Kieau scoffs, almost pitying his pained expression.

Soda huffs a breath that he’d been holding, unable to form coherent words in response.

Kieau rolls their eyes with a smirk, considering his feelings just enough to release the pressure on his cock. They use their new-found balance to retrieve the X-Acto knife from the ground beneath them, the sight of it bringing his hands to his cock as if to protect it. 

With an antagonizing snap of their wrist, the duct tape securing his chest parts ways with ease. He looks down at the breach, realizing he can finally fill his lungs in their entirety, only for the wounds to re-open from their budding scabs.

The flickering of Kieau’s tail and their mischievous expression catches his eye more than the handle of the blade that they extend towards him. They’re surely up to something with this change of pace, the power that they’ve cultivated wouldn’t be so easily surrendered. Though he can move his torso freely, he stagnates, comprehending the logic of his next move.

“You want more? Then by all means…” Kieau ushers with a faux-poshness to their voice, wiggling the blade’s handle. 

Soda waits for the catch, but Kieau only pushes the blade closer towards him. With shaky hands, Soda reaches out and accepts the blade. The weight of it is heavy with the weakness of his grip. Kieau, satisfied, waits patiently as Soda frees himself of the restraints on his ankles, blood rushing to his head.

With the final snip of stubborn tape, Kieau rushes towards him with a sinister smirk. Soda yelps with the sudden movement, dropping the blade and bracing himself for the inevitable collision. 

Instead of pushing his chest like he was expecting, Kieau hooks his fingers under the seat of the chair. Kieau’s envenomed glare meet’s Soda’s confused expression for just a moment before they heave the chair off of its balance. Soda bites his tongue as he’s tossed backwards, moving too fast in slow-motion, the world going topsy-turvy. 

He wheezes as the wind is knocked from his chest, landing on his back with the entirety of his weight. Kieau growls, enraged at the way he usurped his bondage, and grabs one of the chair’s legs with a red-blooded squeeze. Soda squeals as Kieau launches the chair out from under him, clattering loudly as it smashes against the wall.

Left without the protection of the chair, Kieau digs their fingers around Soda’s ankle to drag him up and off of his coccyx, folding his abdomen with a wicked curve of his spine. The angle stings the incisions on his chest, his eyes clenching shut with the sting of fresh wounds.

His eyes creep open with the sensation of something rubbing his ass, confronted with the sight of his cock dangled above his face. The throbbing in the back of his head from the fall becomes a distant concern as he watches Kieau rut their cock against his ass. They hold his ankles, rubbed sore from the duct tape, keeping him in place as their hips glide forward and back. 

They lower his hips just enough to douse their cock with the pooling of blood near his hip. Soda balances his body with an outstretching of his arms. Kieau’s eyes close for a moment as they appreciate the warmth that makes their breath hitch.

Whatever control Soda had taken is quickly relinquished. Kieau releases his ankle to angle their cock towards his entrance, the base of it throbbing as the tip prods the softness of his hole. Soda winces as their tip pries into the tightness of the muscle too quickly for Soda’s well-being, especially as he struggles to breathe under the weight of gravity. With a frantic tremble, the spongy lip of their head slips inside the barrier of his muscle, unprepared and too tight. They groan in unison, Soda’s listless whines contrasted by Kieau’s bestial thunder of a growl. The noise tenses the muscles of the back of his neck with fear.

He grinds the pads of his fingers into the floor as Kieau wastes no more time, driving themselves flush with Soda’s ass. The pain and fullness in his gut chokes off a grunt in his chest, holding his breath as Kieau slaps their thighs against him with a vicious thrust. The lack of oxygen doesn’t help to stave away the blurring of his vision.

Kieau’s fingernails dig into Soda’s calves as they force a pace that’s far too fast for comfort, captivated by the way he stares at nothing with hazy eyes. Whether or not this was an abuse of power is unimportant; Soda is resilient enough, his cock bobbing with the rhythm, managing to utter breathy grunts each time Kieau’s balls press against him.

The sight of blood streaking their cock and Soda’s feeble whimpers brings them close quicker than they’d thought. In their defense, they’ve felt the inklings of orgasm budding since he started begging. Soda’s fussing wavers into silence as they push him too far past his limits, his eyes glazing over with drool seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Kieau stuffs themselves inside, hunching over the limp mess below them to support his leg with their shoulder. They use their freed hand to catch his attention from the hollow emptiness that’s apparently consumed him. A hardhanded slap across his cheek does the trick, snapping him out of the delirium of blood loss and overstimulation. His teeth clack together with the force of it, blinking rapidly as his eyes roll back towards Kieau’s vehement glare. 

Satisfied, Kieau resumes their rhythm with a violent thrust, smirking at the way his eyes widen with the pressure. Not convinced that he can handle any more, they snake their hand around his neck, keeping his attention with a press of his Adam’s apple. He mouths something wordlessly, too breathless to speak and recoiling with each thrust.

It doesn’t take long for Soda to sink back under the surface, drowning in the milky darkness that leaches the light from his vision. Kieau channels their frustration of Soda’s transient attention into a particularly rough pounding, trying to spur him into a reaction to no avail.

With an aggravated grunt, Kieau rears up and curls their lip. Power clouds their rationality, his lack of attention more of an insult than a biological reality. They act before taking the time to think first, piercing the flesh of Soda’s ankle with rows of sharpened teeth. Soda finally livens fully, flinching away from the pain with what he’s got left. His cry echoes in Kieau’s skull, incredible and rewarding.

With the onslaught of reality, Soda curls his toes and succumbs to the unbearable pain and stimulation of his prostate. Watching blood drip down his leg, bubbling with Kieau’s exhales, he cums without realizing that he’d been close. It takes a wave of relief and a rope of stickiness across his eye for him to understand what’s happening, grimacing as more spurts onto his forehead, cheeks, and chest.

Kieau releases their bite, a sickening squelch marking the creation of neat wounds in the sinews of his ankle. Spackles of blood are cast from their lips with a breathless laugh, watching Soda come to terms with the situation as much as his foggy consciousness will let him.

Kieau watches the last of his cum dribble from the tip, milked with the repeated rubbing of his prostate. The way his cum blends maroon with blood, an almost artistic combination, sends them over the edge with a furious buck of their hips. They empty themselves inside, hissing through clenched teeth as their cock throbs with each spurt. Soda lets out breathy grunts with each forceful jostle of his body, pleasure making way for pain as their pace slows into stillness.

Kieau lets him drop to the floor, following him shortly as they collapse into a heap. They catch their breaths, panting and sinking their weights into the ground. Cum trickles from Soda into a puddle below, his body so still that each drop follows the same path along the roundness of his ass.

“Soda…”

Kieau’s bleary voice convinces Soda to open his eyes despite every instinct urging him otherwise. The tone of it is familiar; it’s regretful, sorrowful, and angry. They’re always like this after the clouds of sex and power part to reveal the harsh clarity of reality. Soda doesn’t have it in him to reassure them, finally given the opportunity for rest.

When he responds with a pitiful groan, Kieau searches their surroundings with a poorly controlled flop of their hand. They find soft tufts of Soda’s hair, hardened by blood and stickied by cum. Their intentions are truly good, wanting to bring him close and comfort him, but they don’t foresee the sheer difficulty there would be in hauling him into their arms. Standing is a feat in itself, nevertheless cradling Soda in his entirety. Soda helps as much as he can, wrapping his arms around Kieau’s back and keeping close to their chest. He smiles briefly at the feeling of Kieau’s lips gently pressing against his forehead, soft and sweet.

What they have in terms of a bed isn’t much, but it’s plenty to cushion Soda’s battered body. The pair bounce onto the mattress, scuttling together to support one another in reposeful silence. There’s no need for words, but Kieau feels obligated given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry…” they mutter, feeling his heartbeat under their fingers, tenderly stroking the softness of his neck. 

Soda shakes his head weakly into their chest, his arm draped lazily over their torso.

“I mean, I think I really went too far this time…” Kieau begins to ramble, their voice shaky with anxiety and concern. “You’re really hurt, and--”

They’re interrupted by Soda raising his head just enough to graze his lips against theirs. The taste of old blood is inconsequential, the kiss earning a deep sigh through Kieau’s nose as they relax into the warmth of it. The kiss is broken after they devolve into giggles, the rush of relief and amazement suddenly overcoming their sensibilities.

“What?” Soda crones, smiling as if to go along with a joke that he didn’t understand.

“I love ya,” Kieau winks, their finger raising to boop the tip of his nose.

Soda breathes a chuckle, catching their finger with a coy peck before they wrap their arms around him. Soda settles into the crook of their neck, his eyes closing with the much-appreciated rest.

“Love you too, dork,” Soda muses, his voice gravelly from exhaustion but softened by affection. Kieau tousles his hair before resting their hand on his shoulder, holding him close as their breaths settle into a slow, restful rhythm.

Getting the shelf back onto the wall would have to wait, the pillows far too comfortable to consider leaving them. Neither of them know what time it is, the sun having set long ago, but in the misty darkness of night or early morning, the pair drifts off into well-deserved rest. 

It is said that Orpheus strummed his lyre for decades, calling out to his beloved incessantly and sorrowfully. Whatever metaphysical barriers separated he and Eurydice, Kieau is glad to be without, holding their lyre close even in the solace of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was a ride, huh?
> 
> check out my tumblr (nympsycho-ao3.tumblr.com) or e-mail me (nympsycho@gmail.com)!


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